


Apple of Your Eye

by Aragem



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Hospitals, Older Characters, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragem/pseuds/Aragem
Summary: A dying patient receives a midnight visitor in the hospital.  And then followed by the story of how they met.For updates, sneak peeks, and more follow me on Tumblr: rebelcourtesan
Relationships: Lucifer Magne & Original Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

Nurse Nancy went about her evening duties on autopilot. She had worked the same shift for almost twenty years and knew what to look for. All patients on her floor were stable, and none were troublesome or high risk. Everyone had their meals, even the girl with the eating disorder had managed to choke down a quarter of her entre, though Nancy suspected that some of it might be hidden under her pillow.

Per protocol, she did a visual check on each patient. A quick peek through the open door was enough to satisfy the policy. As long as patients were sleeping and breathing without any alerts from their monitors, she could sit down with an Agatha Christie novel for the night.

The patient in 306 was an elderly woman, late sixties, and was some prominent lawyer big shot back in the day. She had a big family as they came in and out throughout the day, and the window and side people were filled with flowers, get well cards, and presents. The cards were Hallmark and folded construction paper with crayons and stickers. When Nancy stuck her head inside, she noticed the apple.

She didn't know why or how it caught her attention. It was on the nightstand next to a cup of water and sitting on a piece of paper. It was part of the strict diet for heart patients who received a piece of fruit as a dessert instead of pudding. It wasn't uncommon for patients to set aside fruit for later, but there was something about it. .made her curious? Unnerved her?

Without realizing what she was doing, she was padding into the room to investigate. The patient remained in a peaceful sleep while Nancy investigated the apple. It looked like any ordinary apple, but she saw what was drawn on the paper when Nancy picked up by the stem.

Earlier, the patient had asked for a notepad and a piece of paper. Not an unusual request as patients sometimes wanted to write notes or draw. What was drawn was a small pentagram, and the apple had been sitting in the center . . .like an offering?

Nancy looked down at the woman sleeping soundly. White hair spread across the pillow, framing a thin face. She had aged well, but with high cheekbones, a pert nose, and thin lips. Thirty years ago, maybe even as little as twenty years ago, she must have made a handsome woman. Now she looked small and weak with the NC and IV drip. She was admitted for chest pains, and the doctors were able to treat her in time before she had a stroke. She was taken out of ICU for observation and tests.

"She must have made a deal with the devil . . ." Nancy said, looking down at the pentagram before replacing the apple.

If she were a religious woman, she would have crossed herself as her mother had done whenever she was religiously offended. What would her mother think if she had seen the strange scene? Maybe drop to her knees and pray like crazy.

Nancy returned to the nurses' station and, after checking for messages, pulled out her novel, and began reading. An hour later, as the clock neared midnight, she left her station to fetch a cup of coffee. It wasn't the best coffee, but it kept it awake during her shift. The mug steamed in her hand, sweetened by her favorite flavor of creamer, hazelnut.

She was taking a long sip of the coffee as she returned to her station by memory. When she lowered the coffee, she saw the figure out of room 306. It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. The lights were dimmed for patients' comfort, but she could make out someone standing in the door.

Goosebumps broke out across her skin as a sudden cold swept over her. Sometimes a doctor working the late night shift would do a cursory check on the patients to pass the time. However, none of the doctors would come to work wearing a wide brim top hat and a long white coat. Not unless it was an emergency.

The man held a cane in one hand, which tapped the floor as he went inside. Nancy set her coffee on the desk and hurried to the room. "Sir, wait, visiting hours are over."

Rules were rules, and Nancy maintained a strict visitor policy on her watch. If the man wasn't willing to leave with a polite, but firm expulsion, then she was more than willing to call an orderly or security to . . .

Wait . . .she had passed the security guard, Musaf, on her wait back from the break room. Due to policy, the doors were locked after visiting hours for security unless an emergency prompted them to be unlocked. The only to this part of the floor would be to go past Musaf, and like Nancy, he was good at his job at keeping visitors out and wouldn't have been sitting calmly at his desk reading a magazine if someone not on the staff tried to get inside.

A chill went down her spine. No, there was a logical explanation for this. One of the doors wasn't locked. One of the nurses had forgotten to lock it, or the door was broken, or it was possible the visitor had the key or managed to unlock it himself.

The inside of the room was darker somehow. The only light was from outside the patient's window cast from the street lights in front of the hospital. Nancy stood at the doorway, her hands on the door jambs, catching her balance as sudden coldness swept over her body, and fear reached deep into her bones. No logical thinking could ease the unfounded terror overwhelming her.

The apple was gone from the nightstand.

A wet, munching sound came from a chair in the corner of the room. It was darker in that corner . . .no, there was simply no light there. It stopped at the edges, forming a ring of darkness on the floor, with a wall of ebony cutting off that part of the room. Save for two red eyes peering back at her.

"Don't mind me, dear nurse. I'm just paying a visit to an old friend."

The voice was deep and had an accent she couldn't place. It sounded like a cross between American southern and French, with maybe a slight British clip in there too. There was another wet munch and chewing.

"I'll. . . I'll leave you two alone," Nancy whispered, slowly drawing back. Any concern for the wellbeing for the patient crumbled under the weight of fear.

It took sheer will not to run to her desk and even more so not to drop to her knees and start praying and crossing herself. Come Sunday, she would take her children to mass and go to confession more often. Each night, she would pray for repentance and protection while holding the rosary beads.

Nancy continued to work that shift for another twenty years until she retired. Even unto her last day, she couldn't go into room 306 with a shudder or recalling that memory of the midnight visitor. Nancy never told anyone that story. Not even her husband and children would ever learn of what occurred that night. She took the story of seeing the Devil to her grave.

***

The patient of room 306 slowly opened her eyes, her throat dry, and a cough rattling in her chest. Upon clearing her throat and catching her breath, she could sense the room . . .and knew he was there.

"You came." Her hand sought the control box for the bed before finding it tucked beneath the blanket's edge. It took a few tries, but she was able to press the up position.

As the upper half of the bed rose, bringing her to a sitting position, she peered into the room's dark corner.

"Why so surprised? You sent the call, and here I am."

"I haven't called you for . . . what is it . . .twenty-five years?"

"Twenty-eight years, five months, and 20 days." He laid a black boot across his knee and reclined back in the old armchair as if it were a throne. A black-gloved hand caressed the apple shaped knob of a cane. "You believed I wouldn't come."

It wasn't a question, and it was the truth. "It's been a long time . . . for me and I'm not . . . I'm not young anymore." The back of her hand was thin, wrinkled with light blue vein webbing through the skin. Years ago, she could run a 5K marathon, and now she got winded by walking up a set of stairs. And she was on enough medications she could open her own drug store. "I figured you would have forgotten about me."

"Would I so easily forget the first human mistress I've had in 600 years?" There was a soft lilt in his voice, and his strange accent caressed the words.

A memory that rooted deep into her flesh rose to the surface. Gloved hands traced her shoulders, the scent of peppermint on his undershirt, and the taste of an eaten apple in his tongue. Heat surged through her body that had nothing to do with hot flashes or the temperature of the room, and with it came a bitter sadness and regret.

"I almost hoped you wouldn't come . . .I don't want you to see me like this," she signed. The last time she saw him, she had been 42 and fighting against graying hair with dyes and roots coverup. Now it was pure white and thin. How did he recognize her from what she had been back then? "I'm so damn old now."

"I'm older than you." The shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. It was such a human gesture that it threw her. Whenever he did small things like that, human social cues, it confused her.

"You know it's not the same," she said.

There was a soft clop as he lowered his boot onto the floor, and he rose. He wasn't a tall man if he could be called that, but his presence could fill the room as if he was larger than an elephant. Though he walked from the darkness with a few taps of the cane, it seemed to follow him, showing off his white suit in stark contrast.

"Look at you, Shining One," she said, gazing at him. It was surreal to see him so untouched by time that she half expected she was still in the bedroom of the apartment she owned when their liaisons began. "So beautiful, it's sinful to see you."

"Charming as always," he replied, setting an apple core on the pentagram circle. "If you didn't wish to see me again, then why the offering?"

"To say goodbye," she said, it was her turn to shrug. "See you again one more time before . . ."

"You're under the assumption that you're heading 'north' instead of 'south,'" he flashed a toothy grin, his teeth jagged from end to end.

"Do you know?" She arched a snowy brow.

There was a slight incline in his head, his smile fading slightly to something akin to serious. "You'll be fine."

"Fine as in I'm not going to die or fine as in I'm going to Heaven? Or are you just saying that to comfort me?"

A mischievous smile flashed across his face that said, 'wouldn't you like to know.' That was a thing about him; she found frustrating. He enjoyed keeping his secrets and teasing her with them. She once asked him if he ever met Jesus and casually said, "Oh, there was that time we went hiking in the desert."

And he refused to tell her anymore no matter how much she begged. Whenever she asked him about God and Heaven and the theologian questions, he'd shake his head and said she was like a child trying to get a peek at the presents before Christmas. It didn't help that she pouted at being called a child, and he pinched her cheeks until they were almost red as his own.

"Ending things between us . . .it was the hardest decision I ever made . . ." She recalled the many nights she wept, grieving for him, the loneliness reclaiming her.

"I know." His voice carried an almost somber note.

She didn't know which hurt her more. That she had to end it or that he didn't resist her decision. There had been no demands, questions, nor begging on his part. When she told him that night would be the last, he simply smiled, nodded, and respected her decision. He wasn't human, so she couldn't project what she would have expected from a human man onto him, but it had felt anticlimactic. Their affair had lasted years, well, at least for her. For him, it could have been a dalliance at best. And she had hoped she was more than just that.

She was no fool to hope for anything more than what they had - his monthly visits at the stroke of midnight when she placed an apple upon a pentagram. He was in love with his wife, and she was a fun companion he frequented. Sometimes she wondered if Lilith had a lover for herself, but she never dared ask - it wasn't her business.

Maybe it was telling that he was here now.

"I had to choose," she said, her hands on her lap. Her throat was tight, and her eyes closed to hold back the tears. "I may have been young by your standards back then, but I was mature enough to know I can't be a mother to a special needs child and a lover to the King of Hell. I went to those who needed me more."

"I recall your explanation, and it's not needed now as it wasn't needed then," Lucifer replied. "In the beginning, I told you it was your choice to be with me or not. And it lasted as long as you wished it. I've been alive since before there was light and darkness. I've become accustomed to things ending, and I no longer experience remorse when they do. In the end, it was a wise decision on your part. You've flourished."

She raised her hand and saw that he was standing near the field of cards and flowers. He picked one up, opened it, and read aloud, "Feel better . . . Mimi?"

"Being called Mimi is better than grandma," she said, pulling a tissue from the nightstand and wiping her eyes.

He was right. She did flourish after she last saw him. Shortly after adopting her son, she adopted two more orphans with special needs - a deaf three-year-old girl and a five-year-old with cerebral palsy. The kids no one wanted to adopt. They were grown up now, each with their own family, and they filled her house with spouses and grandchildren at Thanksgiving and Christmas.

"I've lived a full life," she said, dapping at the corner of her eye with the tissue.

"Everyone lives a full life," he corrected. "Some lives are shorter than others, while other lives are harder than others. Would you say that the infant son of a king, who lives for one day, but is doted on for every hour of his short lifespan has a fuller life than a hundred-year-old slave who's never known freedom and only experienced hardship?"

Sometimes he surprised her with a philosophical viewpoint only an immortal would possess. So often, he seemed carefree like a teenager living off their gargantuan trust fund. Once, she decided to try her hand at baking and made a platter of apple fritters. In fact, instead of an apple, she placed a fritter on the pentagram and waited . . .and waited until she heard him in the kitchen, gobbling up the fritters like a starving stray dog. The month, he came to her like a chastised child explaining that his wife limited his intake of sugar and to pass along the message to be more careful about what she fed him as he was bouncing off the walls when he returned home.

"I always wanted to ask you something," she said. "Will you give me an honest answer? No jokes or games. Just the truth, please."

"Depends upon the question," Lucifer returned, setting both hands atop his cane and inclining his head slightly.

"Why did you choose me? Out of all the women on Earth or demons of Hell, why me?"

"Because my wife liked you," he said simply.

She wouldn't let him leave it like that. "No, she approved of me, but you chose me first. Why? I've seen Lilith, and even back then, I couldn't compete with her. I had nothing to offer you, but you never ask anything of me other than my company. Why me?"

There was a long silence. Was he going to crack a joke or give her that mischievous knowing smile that frustrated her so many times? His smile diminished, and he raised a hand towards the armchair. It slid across the floor and arrived just in time for him to lower himself onto it. He laid the cane across his knees as he leaned back.

"Humans are capricious creatures," Lucifer said, waving a hand. "In the beginning, you lot were happy to have food and a place to get out of the rain. Then you formed your little tribes and clans and demanded land and to enslave each other. From there, it went downhill to wanting power, beauty, gold, sex, booze, and drugs. These days, there's this hunger for empty validation through your social programs in 'views' and 'likes.'"

He threw up his hands in a shrug. "My Father and Brothers have done everything to get your people back on the straight and narrow. From floods, plagues, miracles, and that whole ordeal with the carpenter fellow, but you incessantly stray away from the path to the point they've given up. Hence the reason for Hell, a place to toss the unwanted while those deemed acceptable get a halo and step to Father's tune."

He leaned forward with a smirk twisting his lips. "I believe they realize that I was right in the beginning. They'd sooner toss aside their halos and wings before ever admitting it, but the evidence proves it. Hell gets overpopulated every year, and every year Father sweeps it under the rug with an Extermination and goes right back to rule over Heaven and Earth as if his little experiment hasn't spilled over the petri dish."

"Lucifer, as much as I appreciate the sound of your voice," she began. Sometimes he needed a little nudge when he went off in a tangent like this. "I may be dying, so my time is very limited. Why did you choose me?"

He blinked, coming back to himself, the anger diminishing as he adjusted his bowtie. "Simply put - the only thing you wanted of me was to ease your loneliness."

She had been lonely in those days - dedication to her work had driven off more than one boyfriend. One said he didn't want to compete with her job for her attention. Another believed she was cheating on him with someone at work. He refused to believe that someone could be dedicated to their job without sex being involved. With those men, she couldn't be herself. For too long, she struggled as a female lawyer rising in a man controlled world where she was looked up as a woman trying to fill what they perceived as a man's role. Any sign of weakness on her part only reinforced their perception of her.

Lucifer never made any unreasonable requests. He only wanted one night out of the month of her time, and she chose the night. It was always near midnight he would arrive in her apartment, they spent the night together, and he would be gone before the sun rose. During those hours, before he disappeared, she could be herself with him. With him, she could cry about losing a vital case, fume about her colleagues, and he was more than happy to listen to her and afterward fuck until she was numbed from the waist down.

"I've had human lovers in the past," Lucifer continued, glancing to the side in a memory. "They take my favor as permission to give in to their sinful natures, because in their minds, why not? When they go to Hell, then surely I can see to it they spend a comfortable eternity in the Inferno, but not you. You let me go in favor of taking in a motherless child no one wanted. Even now, you're not begging me to reserve you a special place in Hell or extend your life."

"I'll be honest . . .I thought about those things," she admitted. "I didn't because I didn't want to spoil what we had."

"It's good to be needed," he said in a showmanship lift of his hands and a flashed her a brilliant, sharp smile.

"It started out that way, but I loved you - no, I still love you," she said. Her eyes closed, and this time the tears flowed freely. "And I am so happy you've come to me now after so many years."

"Now, now, there's no need for that," Lucifer said, looking a bit uncomfortable. "If you're happy, then be happy. Tell me a joke or sing for me, at least."

"You know I can't sing as well as you, but I do have a joke. My grandson, Justin, told me about it to me today."

She paused for a moment to recall the story and began, "There were two littles who were right terrors. They pulled pranks, stole, lied, and cheated. The parents were beside themselves and didn't know what to do with them. So they turned to religion and took their grievances to a priest."

"This isn't one of those stories about pedophiliac priests, is it?" He raised an eyebrow at her; amusement etched on his face.

"No, of course not," she said, slightly offended. "Justin is ten years old; he doesn't know jokes like that."

"He's a lad living in the age of widely distributed information, and going to school is mandatory. He knows a lot of sex jokes and is wise enough to keep mum about them around his 'Mimi.'" He gave her a knowing grin, teeth almost gleaming at her.

"Anyway," she said, exasperated. "The priest agrees to help the parents and put the fear of God into the boys. He has the boys come to the church one Sunday after morning worship. He has the older brother come into his office while the younger brother waits outside. The priest takes on a firm tone and begins his lecture by asking, "Where's God?"

Lucifer was interested, leaning forward with his hands draped between his knees. "And how did the boy respond."

"He didn't at first. The kid gave the priest a confused look. The priest thought he was being rude, so he said it louder, "Where's God!?" The kid still didn't answer, but getting scared while the priest was getting frustrated. Then in a booming voice, the priest yelled, "Where's God!?!" The boy leaped from his chair and ran out of the office. His younger brother, seeing him running away, fled after him. They ran all the way home and hid in their closet. The younger brother asked what had happened? Why did they run away like that? The older brother said, "We're in a lot of trouble. God is missing, and they think we're behind it."

One of the things she liked about him was his laugh. It was deep, rich, like thick syrup. He was even wiping away a tear of his own. "Tell your grandson that was a good one."

"You have no idea how much of a kick he will get from hearing the devil enjoy his joke."

***

Before he could leave, she asked of him one last thing.

"May I see them? One last time, please?"

He was standing now, cane in hand, and the shadows were gathering around them. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "You've seen them countless times already."

"Oh, stop teasing me. You love showing them off because you enjoy being admired."

Lucifer winked at her, and ribbons of light burst from his spine, spreading and unfolding into pearl white wings. All six wings moved with the grace of a swan's, reflecting the minuscule light in the room like polished marble. She raised a hand, stroking the silken feathers, recalling how soft they were on her face.

They flowed through her fingers when he turned around. Ebony gloves held her face, smoothing back the wrinkles skin over the small bones, and she inhaled the scent of peppermint. His lips touched her brow and moved down her nose and cheek.

"I'm not a young woman anymore," she whispered.

"You're still beautiful, douce prunelle de mes yeux." He kissed her so deep and long that she was grateful for the NC providing her fresh oxygen directly to her nose.

In the morning, she slept until her family visited her. Three days later, she was released from the hospital, but instead of going home, she moved in with her eldest son and his family. She lived for another three years before passing away peacefully in her sleep.

After the funeral, her daughter in law cleaned out her room. Under the bed, she found three strange things. First, there was an apple core, which was strange because her mother in law had always been a tidy woman. The second thing was a piece of paper with a pentagram drawn in pencil. And last the thing was a long white feather.


	2. Apple Martini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How our nameless woman met the King of Hell.

The club thrummed with the heartbeat of sex and alcohol. Bodies convulsed together in like scarecrows in the wind as lights flashed across the dancefloor. The bartender chatted amiably with a couple while entertaining them with tricks of flipping the cups. Nightclubs were hotspots for social interaction and hookups for sex and love.

"Goddamn, why did I come here?" She said, drawing a circle in the rime on her gin and tonic.

Her date wasn't coming. He called and canceled on her while she was getting dressed. It didn't surprise her, but she was disappointed all the same as she had been looking forward to visiting this club. Perhaps coming would make her feel better, but it only made her feel worse.

Why is it that being in her thirties means she was put to pasture by every man who sees her? It's like as soon as a woman hits thirty and still isn't married, there must be something undesirable about her. She had been sitting at the bar for an hour nursing her drink, and no man had looked twice in her direction.

Maybe it didn't help that she kept to herself. Dammit, why is it that she can lead an aggressive offense in court, but can't work up enough courage to approach a man in a dance club.

And why look twice at her? Not when there was a field twenty-somethings or younger that fooled the bouncer with fake IDs. She must look ridiculous, trying to pull off wearing a black dress at her age among these nubile young women with ballerinas and models' bodies.

As soon as she finished her drink, she was going home . . .

A martini was set in front of her.

She stared at it as if it had just popped into existence, then looked up at the bartender who placed it there. "I . . .I didn't order this."

The bartender, a young black man with a gold hoop in his right ear, said, "It's from the man in the booth."

She glanced around, but all the booths were filled with men whose eyes for their dates only or surrounded by women more attractive than her. "Which one?"

"The private booth, ma'am," the bartender said, indicating a booth with his head's tilt. She noticed that he was averting his eyes from where he was pointing, and the bright smile he shared with the couple earlier was gone.

She hadn't noticed the booth because it was such a dark corner. There were parts of the club shrouded in shadow for privacy and intimacy but pitch darkness. Was there someone really sitting there?

"He also said . . ." the bartender continued, "you're invited to join him." Was that sweat on his forehead? Was he nervous, or did mixing drinks build up a sweat?

"Are you sure it's for me?" She glanced at the group of girls at a nearby booth tittering and flirting with men at the bar with their eyes. All of them young, beautiful, and from the lot cut of their dresses, horny.

"The pretty lady in the black dress at the corner of the bar," the bartender replied. "You can send the drink back if you don't want it, and you don't have to go over there if you don't want to."

The drink was a red apple martini garnished with an actual slice of apple. Her fingers curled around the step, and she drew it closer. "I'll take the drink."

He started to say something else, but he glanced at the booth, and his eyes widened. "Sure, honey, whatever ya wanna do."

He hurried away, resuming serving drinks to the girls. She wrinkled her brow, bewildered at his reaction. It sounded like he wanted to warn her away from the man in the booth. She studied the drink for any telltale fizzles, and it looked clear to her. Dipping a fingertip into the glass and tasting it didn't reveal any strange tastes. It tasted strongly of apples, but that could be to hide a drug. No, this place was reputable for being safe for women. The bartender seemed worried for her. That didn't strike her as someone complicit in date rape.

She sipped the martini, and sweet apples spread across her tongue. She plucked the apple slice from the glass and took a bite. This had to be a mistake. Someone who could afford their own private booth in a nightclub could have their pick of any woman in this building, and he chose her out of all the twenty-somethings?

She finished off the apple slice in another bite and rose, collecting her purse under one arm. Her heels clicked on the hard floor as she crossed the dance floor and drew closer to the booth. The dance floor lights flashed across the club, but it failed to penetrate the dark corner or give her a better glimpse of the man. It was as if the light was hitting a black wall.

Was it a trick of the eye?

If it was a private booth, what kept people from claiming it? It wasn't roped off, nor was there any bouncer in place to keep others away. Even the dancers kept their distance from it.

She felt a wave of cold crawl over her body as she crossed the boundary of the shadow. For a moment, she felt her stomach flip as if she drove too fast over a bump in the road, and the pounding music seemed far and muffled as if she were outside the club.

Was something going on with her hearing?

A deep voice smooth and rich like melted syrup. "I'm glad you've overcome your fear and decided to join me."

A gloved hand so black it gleamed in the dim light held up a glass of golden brandy. It reflected her appearance in brilliant contrast but distorted her features, making them almost grotesquely too long. Undeterred, as she had come to this far, after all, she slid into the booth but maintained a safe, but polite distance.

"I wasn't afraid," she said in what she hoped was a flirtatious assurance.

"Caution, then," the man amended, with a jovial tilt of the head.

"A girl can't be too careful these days," she said, and instantly regretted it. Damn, did she dare to call herself a girl? Was he going to think she was one of those women who try to pass themselves off as years younger? Alright, she made a blunder, but being a lawyer, she knew how to deflect. "Thank you for the martini."

"Do you like it? Anton pours the best appletinis, sour apple whiskey, apple cocktails, and he can do wonders with apple schnapps."

"It's good. I never had an appletini before," she said, her eyes noticing for the first time the cane propped against the table. Atop the black pole was a bright red apple complete with a brown stem and green leaf. Once he picks a theme, he sticks with it. "I like it. It's pretty good."

"Ah, then I shall have Anton give us fresh ones," he said, pleased and eager. A black glove raised elegantly into the air near his head and held up two fingers.

The bartender freeze in the middle of dumping a half-empty drink and promptly set the dirty glass down and prepared two apple martinis. Her brow creased as she wondered how he could know what order was wanted without it being delivered verbally or delivered by message? Maybe it was a text message? But the man didn't check his phone. . .

"I supposed the usual line is: what's a pretty girl like you doing alone in a place like this?"

Should she lie? Was he being coy? "I was supposed to meet a date, but he canceled at the last minute."

"His loss," the man said, a bright grin flashed at her. "The apple martinis are simply 'divine.'"

There was something mature and playful about him. His accent was pleasant to listen to. She couldn't tell if it was French or southern. Maybe creole? Yet, there was a hint of British in his pronunciation.

"Do you . . .you come here often?" She asked, wanting to hear him speak.

"Every other month or so. When work permits it . . .or when I permit it," he chuckled, which warmed her like fur across her skin.

"What kind of work do you do?"

"I make decisions, give orders, host parties, and put the fear of me in those who would interrupt my fun." The grin became sinister, and for an instant, there was something off about his smile. The teeth weren't straight but jagged and wrong. And the beaming eyes were large and yellow with no trace of any white sclera.

Anton, the bartender, appeared with a tray with two apple martinis. With expert proficiency, he set each glass before atop of a napkin. There was a stiffness in his back, and he kept his eyes focused on the task that told her he was nervous. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, that will be all for now, Anton. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir." Anton collected her now empty martini glass and hurried back to the bar.

The drinks were ruby red, each with a triangular slice of red apple on the glass lip. She took the slice and bit into it, and the sweet juices spilled across her tongue as her teeth crunched into it. The sweetness made her jaw ache in a pleasant sting as she slowly chewed. Eating the slice dashed away from the eeriness of what she thought she saw.

She was turning this into an interrogation by asking him all these questions, but not volunteering anything about herself. "I'm a . . . I'm a lawyer for B&B Sons."

"I'm not familiar with them," he said casually, head tilting to the side like a dog hearing an exciting sound. "Who are they?"

"We're corporate lawyers. You might have heard of us during the Red Craft scandal last year?"

There was a short, thoughtful pause, and he said, "I do recall a number of suicides last year. Most of them being corporate business sorts."

"Uh, yes, people lost a lot of money last year. Some of them lost everything they owned and became homeless."

"As if it was any better after death." The reply was sardonic with an amusing flair. "Well, maybe in some ways."

***

The hours slipped by like sand through her fingers. Anton delivered three more apple martinis during her time in the private booth.

After the first martini, she was feeling a bit buzzed and daring. "Do you want to dance?"

"I love dancing," he said. "But not here. That," he waved a black gloved hand at the writhing bodies, "is not dancing. A proper dance, a good dance, is seduction. That debacle mimics the acts of outright public fucking with grinding and thrusting, where they would be in the throes of intercourse, but their clothing is in the way."

It was the drink in her that made her so bold to ask, "Maybe one night, we can go somewhere we can have a . . . a 'good' dance."

The grin he gave her stretched from ear to ear, and perhaps even wider. "I think I would like that, my dear."

He never bragged about himself to impress her, nor was she ever bored listening to him. Sometimes he said things in a playful, teasing manner like proclaiming Walt Disney stole ideas from his theme park Loo-Loo World. Or talk about his favorite foods, which consisted of those found in a carnival: funnel cakes, corn dogs, cotton candy, and, no surprise, candied apples.

After the second martini, she laughed openly at his jokes but became embarrassed when she snorted. She covered her mouth and nose with both hands, eyes wide in horror at herself. "I'm sorry, I don't usually do that."

"No, no, don't be ashamed. It's cute. I rather hear your genuine snorts than the chirps and cheeps of someone trying to stroke my ego."

It felt good to be around him, freeing. He listened to her without turning the topic around to him, even asked engaging questions about her life. She didn't have to put up a show or facade to protect herself or placate him. He seemed to like her as much as she did for him.

After the third martini, she chewed the candied apple, the sweetness filling her mouth, and knew she wanted him. Her hand laid atop of his, the leather was smooth and soft against her palm, her thumb slowly stroked his wrist. "Do you . . .want to go somewhere . . .together? I think there's a nice hotel a few blocks away."

The silence that followed was so long that she began to believe she had offended him and made a fool of herself. How drunk was she to do something so silly as to proposition him?

Before she could withdraw her hand and apologize, his hand curled around hers, the fingers lacing with hers, firm and gentle. He raised her hand to his mouth, and lips brushed her knuckles. "Not tonight, prunelle de mes yeux. It is late, and my wife will wonder where I am."

She experienced that moment someone has just when they fall from a high place. That instant before gravity grabs them, where their brains have enough time to utter 'oh shit, this is gonna hurt.' All of her good feelings, pleasure, and enjoyment were washed away as if a bucket of ice water was thrown over her.

"You're married?"

"Yes, for many happy years to my precious Lillith," he beamed with that bright smile.

"Oh, I . . .I thought . . .you bought me drinks, and we were . . ." It was as if the last few happy hours were washing away under a deluge of disappointment.

"We were having a good time," he said. His lips moved against the back of her hand into a wide smile. "You enjoyed my company, no?"

"I did," she replied. "Very much, but . . .why did you buy me a drink if you were married?"

God, she sounded like a child. She must be drunk to ask such a foolish question. At least two of the men from the office were cheating on their wives without a care in the world. And this one was wearing gloves so she couldn't see the ring.

"Because I saw your sadness."

A wave of pain went through her. Oh, this was so much worse than being ignored. So much, much worse. This was nothing more than an act of pity. Now she was feeling sick and just wanted to disappear. God, she was so stupid . . .no, so desperate.

"Why the tear?" A leather stroked her cheek, where a hot tear was rolling down her face. When did he move to her side of the booth? He was close enough that she could count the red stripes of his undershirt and smell peppermint - not cologne that smelled like mint, but peppermint candy.

"You said it yourself. I'm sad," she muttered, trying not to feel petty. "Look, you did your good deed for the night, so let's call it a night. . ."

His laughter erupted from him so hard he threw back his head. It was deep and rolled from his chest in peals of mirth. "You believed me . . .of all beings . . . was performing a good deed? Oh, my wife will love this story."

"But you said . . ."

"I said I saw your sadness." He was calming down. His shoulders shook slightly as he giggled. "You caught my eye by standing out among these glittering pieces of fake jewelry like a full moon in a dark night sky. I assure you, when I invited you to my booth, it was not out of any altruism, but my selfish desire to share an evening with a real human woman."

Chewing her bottom lip, she wasn't sure of how to respond. "You're going to tell your wife about me?"

"Of course, she enjoys hearing about my sojourns to the living world."

"And she's not going to be mad at you for being with another woman?"

"Why would she be? We haven't done anything more than share drinks and talk." He gave her an alluring look, raising her hand to his face and leaning his cheek into her palm.

His skin was smooth and warm - very warm. For the first time, she noticed the circular red patch on his cheek. A birthmark or a scar? She couldn't focus on it; her vision blurred, and the mark disappeared.

Dizzy, she bowed her head and inhaled his peppermint scent. It cleared her head, but also made her aroused. "I want you."

"I want you too, but alas, without my wife's approval, I cannot do more than that."

***

The next minutes flow by her. The man was speaking to her, stroking her face, and kissed her on the forehead. Anton, the bartender, escorted her outside to a waiting car with a black uniform driver. She must have passed out in the backseat and came too when the driver arrived at her apartment building. He offered to help her inside, but she politely declined.

When her shoes in one hand and her purse in the other, she made it to her apartment. She didn't bother undressing, just went to her bedroom and collapsed on the bed and slept until late morning when she woke up with a pounding headache and nausea.

She took some painkillers, shucked off her dress, and stepped under the shower's steaming hot spray. The heat made her feel better and eased the pressure in her head. How much did she drink? And why did she drink so much?

The memory of an apple pieced together last night. The man . . .what was his name? He introduced himself, and she thought it quite strange. Mange . . . Lucas Mange? No, it was . . .

"Lucifer Mange," she said in a low whisper barely heard over the rush of water. "And he . . .he was . . .handsome?"

What did he look like?

She closed her eyes and tried to conjure up the visual memory of the man who bought her an apple martini. It shaped itself into an image of a blonde white face with red cheeks, a wide grin baring sharp jagged teeth, and large yellow eyes. No, that wasn't right. He didn't look like that . . .

But did she ever look directly at him?

No. She had looked down at her glass or her hands. It was only from the corner of her eye that she viewed him. The only times she looked directly at him . . .something happened with her eyes, and she saw something that couldn't be there. Sharp teeth that realigned itself into a normal smile and red patches that disappeared.

Was it a drug that made her think he saw that? There had to have been something in those apple martinis, or maybe she had been drunk and imagined the whole thing.

He said something to her before she left. What did he say?

As she left the bathroom, she saw where her purse had fallen on the floor and picked it up. There was a corner of a red envelope sticking out of the side pocket. On the front, written in black ink was her name and a message:

Let's go dancing

Inside the envelope was an invitation to a party at an upscale resort in uptown. She sat on the bed, studying the invitation, and trying to figure what she wanted to do.

He was married and seemed to still care for his wife to the point that he wanted her blessing to have an affair. Was this a rule of an open marriage? And did she want to be the other woman in whatever this was?

It would be simple enough to drop the invitation into the trash and forget about it. Just go on with her life as is. Tomorrow, she'll go back to work as the single woman in her 30s trying to stand side by side with her male coworkers while her friends and family wonder when she will find a husband. She's well on her way to her forties as they always remind her. She wasn't a young woman anymore, and her ovaries were drying up, and soon no man was going to want her in a few years, so she better settled with the first one to show any interest in her.

_Prunelle de mes yeux . . . You caught my eye by standing out among these glittering pieces of fake jewelry like a full moon in a dark night sky._

"Fuck it and fuck them," she muttered, standing so fast it spiked her headache.

She marked the date on the invitation on her calendar and pinned the invite to her corkboard with a mental note that she would have to rent a dress for the event.


	3. Apple Dance

It didn't surprise her that the bow of the brass key was shaped like an apple. Pushed by two black-gloved fingers, it slid across the table towards her. It topped in the center of the table, within easy reach of her. She kept her hands clasped together on her lap, staring at the thin bit of metal that seemed to hold the world within it.

"This is key to the sixth room at the sixth hall of the sixth floor."

A smile touched her lips. "Room 666, eh?"

"Yes, Room 666." The wide grin became a cresent when he tilted his head. "I'll be there until midnight." 

Her teeth bit into her lower lip as she looked between him and the key. "You don't. . . you don't want us to go up together?" 

"I am governed by few rules," he said, amber eyes glowed, casting a dim light across the table. The polished key gleamed in the low light, like a blade of grass catching the moon's luminosity. "The rules I must follow, I strictly uphold. This must be your choice. If you go to Room 666, you must go alone and of your own volition."

She picked up the key. It was solid and heavy in her hands, the metal cold to her fingertips. "And . . .what happens if I . . .I choose not to go?"

"Then, we return to our respective homes early." There was a slight lift of his shoulders. "I assure you, there is no punishment or penalty for refusing. It wouldn't be a choice if that was the case."

"And what happens if I choose to go?"

Sharp teeth arc in a smile that split the red patches of his cheeks. "Anything."

***

The man who canceled their date called back to reschedule. After a few moments of hesitation, she politely turned him down. "Sorry, I have a lot of work on my hands. I'll. . . I'll call you back if my schedule opens."

She could hear the shock in his voice as he said goodbye. A woman her age couldn't afford to be choosy when it came to successful men, and she had come onto him. 

The days slipped by quickly with work keeping her busy. When she returned home, she saw the invitation stuck to the corkboard and recalled her time with Lucifer Mange. An odd playful man whose face she couldn't clearly remember even after spending several hours with him. The one thing she could recall clearly was his voice: deep and cultured with an accent that sounded like the combination of French and Southern with a British hint.

Prunelle de mes yeux. 

She looked it up. It was French for the apple of my eye. Warm affection for him filled her when she remembered his accent caressed the words. He had called her that twice. Maybe he would do so again and more. 

She checked the invitation for an RSVP number or any contact information for Lucifer Mange. Nothing. Not even a note save for the Lets Go Dancing message on the scarlet envelope. When had he slipped it into her purse? She had kept her purse near her on the seat, not outside where anyone could walk away with it or deftly take something from it without her noticing. She had lived in the city her whole life and knew how to protect her belongings. 

Like a fog being lifted, she recalled something new. It was towards the end when she was rather drunk and sad after learning about his marriage. He was speaking to her, but she couldn't remember what he told her. He was reaching into his coat . . .no, he didn't. He held up two fingers and the red envelope materialized between them, like a magician with a card trick. 

Wait, that wasn't it either. There had been a brief flame that burst from his fingertips, leaving behind the envelope as it extinguished. He offered it to her, and she accepted it. The paper was warm as if it came fresh off a printer. 

*** 

While she was getting ready for the dance hall, the phone rang. With a towel wrapped around her waist, she answered the phone while toweling her hair dry. "Hello?"

"Hello, my name is Jeff. I'll be your driver for this evening. I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to confirm the time for me to pick you."

"What? I'm sorry, but I don't understand." She eased the towel around her shoulders, surprised. 

"Mr. Magne requested me to drive you to the dance hall tonight."

"I was going to hire a cab . . ."

"There's no need, ma'am. Mr. Magne wants to ensure you have a pleasant evening. . .unless you want me to pass along that you won't be joining him tonight."

"No, no, I'm coming tonight. Can you pick me up at 6:00?"

"Yes ma'am, my car will be waiting outside of your apartment building at 6:00."

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the invitation still pinned to her corkboard. "How do you know where I live?"

"You might not remember me, but I was the one who brought you home the night you met Mr. Mange."

"Oh, I think I remember now. Thank you. I will see you tonight." 

It should be a relief that she wouldn't need to hire a cab, but it was unnerving that Magne had already made arrangements without consulting her. Or did he? 

She couldn't remember what was said before leaving the club. Maybe he did ask her if she wanted a car sent for her, and she agreed? She was pretty drunk after downing five apple martinis. Tonight, she would be more careful about drinking too much and not making a fool of herself again. 

And maybe she was making a fool of herself by going after a married man. Was she that desperate? As she dressed, did her hair and makeup, she wondered why she was going through with this. Was it worth potentially getting her heart broken to be with him? 

Lucifer made her feel good. She didn't have to appease him to keep him interested, and he seemed as intrigued with her as she with him. And she never knew what to expect from him. Sometimes he said something silly while other times, he revealed deep, fascinating insights that surprised her. 

If there was a chance of seeing him again, she would regret it if she didn't take it. Even if it was a one night stand or just an evening of dancing, she wanted to see him again. 

At 6:00 sharp, Jeff's black car was parked at the doors of her apartment building with the backseat invitingly opened. It wasn't a limo, but the back was comfortable and roomy. Jeff was a handsome man in his thirties and carried himself with a professional air. He held the door open for her without giving her the usual cursory head to toe look she received from most men. Polite and efficient, he drove her uptown to the dance hall and even called ahead for an attendant to escort her from the parking lot.

There was a band on stage with brass instruments catching the light and musicians dressed in crisp white uniforms. The dance floor was polished, reflecting the overhead lights like multiple suns. Guests were arriving with women dressed in a myriad of colors giving the dance hall an appearance of a florist shop with the white tablecloths. 

There was an alcove shrouded in a dim light where the bright light couldn't touch. It was familiar with how the private booth in the night club couldn't be penetrated by the light. At first sight, she knew that was his table.

Stepping into the shadow was like walking out into a cold drizzle. Goosebumps spread across her arm and shoulders. The table was empty save for a centerpiece, which was a basket of apples.

"Mr. Magne is running a bit late," the attendant said, guiding her to a seat. "He will be with you shortly. In the meantime, Mr. Magne has selected a fine wine for you to enjoy."

Thinking about the apple martinis, she declined. The last thing she wanted was for him to arrive when she was sauced. "Oh, please don't bring it yet. I'll wait until he arrives."

The attendant nodded politely and took her leave. Waiting, she checked her hair and makeup in her compact and didn't see anything out of place. She had considered getting her hair and makeup done at a salon, but time didn't permit as there were a series of necessary paperwork that needed to be filed and organized for a case.

As she was checking her eye makeup, she saw him behind her. 

He was wearing the same clothing as before: white suit over a red stripe undershirt, wide brim top hair, and a black cane with an apple at the top he held with black gloves. Embarrassed, she snapped the compact closed and felt warmth spread across her shoulders and the back of her neck. 

Black leather, soft and firm, laid across her shoulder. "You didn't like the wine?"

Pleasure and arousal uncoiled inside her. Strong visceral attraction caused her to unconsciously raise a hand to lay across his, pressing his fingers' weight into her skin. "I wanted to wait for you before indulging."

The sweet, sharp scent of peppermint drew surrounded her. He was standing close enough for her to feel the warmth of his clothes brush the nape of her neck. "My wife scolded me for thoughtlessly plying you with so many drinks. She reminded me that humans don’t have strong constitution as us."

The mention of his wife did little to temper the hot arousal that rushed through her blood. "D-did she say anything else about me?"

What would a wife say about the woman her husband met in a nightclub and is taking out dancing? 

"She thinks you're cute," his strange accent unfurled in her ears. His hand slid down her shoulder, along her arm, her hand riding along. "She granted me permission."

Her thighs squeezed together, giving her a pulse of pleasure between them. God, she was going to soak her underwear this early in the night? "Permission for what?"

His hand cupped her elbow, and for the first time, she noticed the light pricking front the tips of his fingers. "Let's dance first. We have plenty of time to talk later."

***

It was the most fun she had in a long time. 

It didn't matter that she had never ballroom danced a day in her life. He led, and she only had to follow. It took a few learning steps to match his gait, but she had always been a quick learner. There was enough room to be swept along as oddly enough, wherever he took them, the other dancers seemed to give them plenty of space by stepping away at their approach. 

When the music slowed to soft intimate jazz, she was able to collect herself. Her heart was still racing, and it was doubtless that he could feel it pounding between them. She noticed that he didn't seem winded in the least, nor was there a shimmer of perspiration on his brow or in his scent, which still carried a strong candied mint. 

She wanted to talk with him, connect with him socially as they were physical with his arms around her waist and hers around his shoulders. "How was your day?"

"Oh, same old, same old," he sighed, teeth flashing in a perpetual grin. "Dark dealings, betrayals, undercutting rivals, and asinine sycophants trying to either hump or climb me to power."

"I can understand. The corporate world can be pretty cut throat," she replied. "I don't recall if I told you, but I'm a corporate lawyer . . ."

"For B&B Sons. Yes, you get to see the greed up close and personal." 

"It's not as interesting as criminal law. When I went to law school, I imagined myself like one of those day time television lawyers. Like Matlock, but . . .I decided to go with corporate law instead."

"Why?"

Drawing a deep breath and wishing she hadn't brought it up as it was dampening her spirits. "I sat in on a court case where this man got into a fistfight with a neighbor and accidentally killed him. He greatly regretted what he had done, but he was charged guilty by the jury and was looking at spending most of his life behind bars for something he did in a moment of anger. His family was in the courtroom, and they just broke down into tears. What got me . . .what made me cry on the drive home . . .was his little girl sitting beside her weeping mother with this confused look on her face. She didn't understand that she just lost her father. I couldn't do it after that. Corporate law is a greedy cut throat world, but it's just money exchanging hands."

She curled her arms around his shoulders, putting her face into shoulder, taking comfort in his presence as the sad memory rolled over her. 

"You didn't want to tread through the mud of emotional turmoil," Lucifer said, his voice like fur brushing her skin. "So you chose to work alongside the makers and breakers of the world. To see the proverbial rock begins its descent from on high to crush those beneath while you watch from a distance unable to see the tears up close." There was a predatory hunger in his eyes, which were oddly yellow in the light.

"No, I . . .just - it's not like that. I . . .I don't like seeing people being hurt or sad," she said, feeling as if she were being judged or attacked. "I didn't want a job where so much would ride on me. I don't want to hold people's lives in my hands based on my success or failure as a lawyer. If I fail in corporate law, a millionaire gets less money in his pocket."

"Or has to close down a chain of facilities where people earn their livelihoods," Lucifer whispered into her ear. A hand kneaded the skin between her shoulder blades, tracing the bones with thin fingers. "The jobless get desperate, sin to make ends meet. They steal what they need, whore themselves out to feed their children, and ease their desperation, they turn to booze and drugs. My dear, you don't see how they all connect, but I do. Dropping a pebble in crystal water causes more than just a ripple in the world and after it."

"Are . . .are you a philanthropist?"

His laughter rippled across the dance floor. The other dancers stopped to see where the laughter's source to have their visions clouded as if they were looking directly into the sun. They looked away, quickly forgetting about the woman dancing with the strange man in the white suit with a wide, fanged smile.


	4. Apple Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bond is forged.
> 
> Warning: Adult sexual situation in this chapter. Nothing explicit, but it's there.

Touching him brought an incredible thrill throughout her, and when he touched her, took her hand, guided her on the dance floor, or even stroke her back, it was euphoria. She stayed close to him, breathing in the sweet fragrance of his clothing, and listening to him speaking.

_I don't care if he's married or not. If this man doesn't fuck me tonight, then I'm going home to spend a lonely hour with a vibrator._

When the slow dance ended, he linked his arm with hers and led the way to their table. A waiter brought a bottle of iced wine and filled their glasses before departing with a bow. And it came as no surprise that the wine tasted of ripe apples. It rolled along her tongue, smooth and cool, refreshing her and giving her a pleasant feeling.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked her. His grin was bright, catching the light like glass.

"This is the most fun I've had in a long time," she replied. "Thank you for this."

"No, thank you," Lucifer replied. "You made an otherwise boring night into an exquisite affair."

"Oh, I am going to be so sad when tonight ends," she sighed, enjoying the apple scent bubbling from her glass.

"It doesn't have to end," he said, taking a slow sip.

Feeling a rush of arousal and anticipation, she leaned forward, setting the glass down on the tablecloth. "Oh? What do you have in mind?"

A tongue slid across his teeth . . .it was oddly shaped . . . and he drained his glass. By the time he set the glass down, she had forgotten what it had looked like. "We should go somewhere private . . .and talk."

Later, she would chalk up her own desire, the pleasure of dancing, and maybe slightly buzzed from the wine that made her go with him to the lobby where an elevator took them up several floors. Her hand stayed on his arm, fingering the white fabric, temptation building up to the point that she gave in to her lust and tried to kiss him.

Or she would have, but two gloved fingers touched her lips, halting her inches from his own. "Now, now, there will be plenty of time for that later, dear. We have to talk first."

She dropped down onto her heels in disappointment. "What is there to talk about? I know you're married and I . . .I know I should care, but I don't. . .I still want you."

His hand cupped her cheek, a thumb stroking the tender skin beneath her eye. "My wife has given me permission to have you as a mistress."

Well, that was certainly convenient. She wouldn't have to worry about any angry phone calls or unpleasant confrontations if the wife not only gave him permission to have a mistress but approved of her for the position. Yet, maybe this was actually the other shoe dropping.

"I take it there are rules to this," she sighed.

"There's always rules, darling. They govern the universe through scientific evidence, theological commandments, or guarding the heart."

One the elevator stopped on the third floor, he led her to a private room. The only light source of the room was a single lamp hanging above a round table. It was the only piece of furniture she could see, and there was a cold stagnation about the room as if nothing had ever moved in here, and they were the first to come in here in years. For the first time, a chill rolled down her spine as second thoughts invaded her mind.

The door shut behind her with a definite click of a lock. Fear tightened her throat, and she looked over her shoulder to see him, but he wasn't there! She looked for him, but then heard the soft chuckle behind her.

He was sitting at the table with his hands neatly folded, just short of the ring of light on the table. Indicating the seat across from him, he said, "Please, have a seat."

How did he go around her without her seeing? And he had been right behind her as he had opened the door for her. Perhaps the room was darker than she had realized.

She took the seat opposite him, and her hands tighten on her purse in an unconscious nervous act. Dread filled her emotions like a drop of ink in clear water. This was almost formal but seedy as if they were able to discuss an illegal transaction. "Lucifer, what's going on?"

"Are you afraid?" That would not be the first time he asked that question tonight.

Her lips moved to say no, but she paused before answering, "Maybe, a little. I don't really understand what you're doing with me. You said your wife gave you permission to have a mistress when a lot of men I've seen cheating on their wives would sweat a river at the thought of them finding out."

"Well, they haven't been married as long as we have," Lucifer replied, inclining his head. She could tell as the shadowy outline of his top hand moved with his head. "I love my wife dearly, just as she loves me. However, we both understand that to keep our bedroom life . . .lively . . .we take lovers."

"So she really doesn't mind if we sleep together," she said. "And she's not afraid that you'll. . .leave her?"

"We love for each other too much to ever consider breaking our marriage," Lucifer explained, his voice wistful and even a touch sad. "We sacrificed too much for what we have now. No, Jane, what I'm offering you will not lead to a committed union between us."

"So . . .what are you offering me?"

"Myself."

Jane drew a short breath, her emotions mixed and confused like tangled ribbons. "And who are you? I talk a lot about myself, so you know me. I'm a lawyer, so I know when someone is cagey about themselves with me. I've ignored it because I'm. . . because I like you. If this is where we're putting all of our cards on the table, then I want to know who you are."

"Are you sure?" Lucifer inquired, hands clasped together on the table. "Do you want to see me?"

"I've seen you already," she blurted out. "I've been seeing you since we met."

"I mean . . .really see me."

She wasn't sure of how to respond. Was he able to expose himself to her?

Then she realized something that had been nagging at her since the nightclub. Even though they had shared drinks, danced, and even now sat only a few feet apart, she still had no idea of how he looked. She was certain of general things. He was tall, blonde, and white, but beyond that and his clothing, she still couldn't describe him. Were his cheekbones low or high? Was his nose large or small? What color were his eyes? And what was his mouth?

How could she be attracted to him when she had no idea of how he looked?

Sharp, jagged teeth. Yellow eyes. No has ever looked directly at him. Not Anton, the water, nor the attendant. They always averted their eyes from him, as she was doing now.

"What will I see?" she asked, her throat going tight with fear.

"The truth."

"And what is the truth?"

"I'm not named Lucifer because of any poetic or daring parent. I'm King Lucifer Magne, husband of Queen Lillith, rulers of Hell."

A laugh rose to her throat and died there. Her throat was going dry, her fingers tightening around her purse in a white knuckle grip. "I want to see you."

"Are you sure?"

"Is it . . . is it that bad?"

A chuckle rippled across the air between them. "I should hope not! Or else my wife was fibbing when she called me a handsome devil this morning. No, you won't go blind by seeing me, but I'm not human. My appearance may . . .be offsetting to you."

For the first time, Jane lifted her eyes and looked directly at Lucifer Magne, ruler of Hell. She stared for a long time before coming to a conclusion. "You're beautiful."

It was a lethal beauty. Like the shimmering scales of a poisonous snake. The grace of an alligator or shark swimming underwater. And the majesty of a lion hunting in the tall grass. And oddly enough, it made him even more attractive for her. And frightening.

***

The key lay heavy in her hand. Her thumb caressed the apple shaped bow as she considered the offer.

_If I agree to this . . .am I doomed to Hell?_

_Unlike what your religions would have you believe, Heaven doesn't judge you based upon your choice of partners._

_How long would this last?_

_That would be your choice. You decide when it begins and ends._

_This is solely my choice?_

_I can only go where I am invited in the Living World._

Of all the men she could have attracted, it was the devil himself. And he was nothing at all as she imagined the devil. There were no horns, red scaly skin, nor tail. There was the forked tongue, which she glimpsed as he spoke.

_And he can walk among us in a lavish white suit, top hat, and cane. Oh, and he likes apples._

She could go home and chalk this up as a story to tell. No one would ever believe her, and she could hardly believe it herself. Tomorrow, she would enjoy her day off and then report back to the office on Monday, where paperwork, meetings, and phone calls awaited her. Maybe the coworker who asked her out to the nightclub might be willing to try again . . .

Why the hell would she be hanging onto a man who only gave her a look in passing interest when the immortal King of Hell wanted her as his mistress?

***

On the sixth floor, on the sixth hall, and on the sixth door was the image of an apple. A giggle left her throat as she squeezed the key. He does commit, whether it's to a theme or to a wife for thousands of years.

The key slotted home into the keyhole and turned with a well-oiled click. Heart racing, palms sweating, she opened the door into pitch darkness. She walked into the darkness and barely flinched when the door closed behind her, guided by no visible hand.

Leather cladded hands took hers, lacing the fingers together. "You came."

"Are you . . .are you surprised?" She couldn't see anything before her. It was oily darkness, but she felt his presence before her like a tangible fog.

"Pleased." A hand slid up her arm to squeeze her shoulder.

She raised her hands in need of touching something tangible to ground her and in desire for him. Satin and silk whispered against her palms as she moved them up to his torso. Fingers trailed up a smooth throat and high collar, then touching a hard jaw and across a mouth with sharp teeth.

Her mouth found him without the need of light. His mouth tasted of wine and apples, sweet and intoxicating. Her tongue brushed across the sharp edge of teeth, and she pushed forward, trusting him and drinking him in deeply.

In a wave of pleasure and desire, lust, and need, she was lying on the bed, her body open and ready. Lucifer hovered above her, his bare hands linking with hers on either side of her head on the pillow.

Her heart was racing in both anticipation and exhilaration. His skin was soft, smooth like a woman's, but hard like alabaster. Warm blew across her face as he positioned himself against her body, but not yet linking them together.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," she whispered, wanting to touch him, to draw him close against her, but her hands were pinned to the pillow. Then another thought, one that frightened her, came. Had he changed his mind? Now that he had seen her and had he found her lacking, a disappointment? "Do you . . . do you not want me anymore?"

His answer came in action. Her head tilted back as he filled her, spreading hot flares of pleasure spread through her stomach. Since she couldn't cling to him with her hands, she used her legs, hooking them around his waist and thighs.

A lustful sigh purred into her ear, and she rolled her head to hungrily catch his mouth with hers. The brush of his teeth gave her a thrill of danger, but no pain or blood was drawn, not that she expected it. For the first time in her adult life, she felt safe with him.

Not that she expected any danger with it coming from men. The judgment, assessment, and potential disappointment down the road would linger over her like a scythe ready to cut her in two. With Lucifer, she knew where she stood with him, and had no lofty expectations that couldn't possibly be fulfilled, and she could enjoy this with him now for what it was. It was the truest sense of freedom that she never experienced in her life.

"Tell me about hell," she whispered with her head on his shoulder.

The sheets clung to their bodies, leaving little to the imagination of their shapes and states of arousal. There was a hot glow from the end of a cigar he was smoking. A puff on it brightened the small ember, casting his chest and her arm draped across it in orange. The cigar smelled of cloves and cinnamon, which made her nose wrinkle but wasn't unpleasant to smell. Just a bit stronger than she would have liked.

"Do you really want to know, my dear?" Lucifer asked, his white smile now orange in the ember's light. "I might be ruining a surprise."

"Yes. Who better to ask?" Jane insisted. "Is it full of fire and brimstone like the preachers say?"

"Oh yes, and so much more," Lucifer replied, his fingers splayed across her spine, just short of a ticklish spot he discovered earlier.

Jerking her body to protect it from questing fingers, she slid at leg across the waist and maneuvered herself to straddle his waist. "More? Demons, pitchforks, and torture?"

"Oh, the Sinners torture themselves just fine without the Hellborn interfering," Lucifer's set the cigar aside on an onyx ashtray on the bedstead and then gave her his attention, cupping her buttocks. "You put several evil people in a room together, and they will tear each other apart before the day's end."

"Sounds like a high stakes meeting at work," she murmured, distracted by his growing arousal prodding her thighs.

Within minutes, the conversation was put to the side to focus on bringing each other to another climax. Hearing him moan beneath her brought her gratification to know she could please him as he did for her. That this wasn't a one-sided affair where one took from the other, but both sides met in the middle, giving and taking without the one side gaining at the expense of the other.

It was surprising, she would think later, that she had learned how a genuine relationship should work from the King of Hell himself.

***

She didn't want to dress. She didn't want him to dress either. Getting dressed meant the night was over and would plunge her into uncertainty. Clinging to him, she tried to entice him into another round of sex, but he gently took her hand, kissed the knuckle, and said, "I must return to my wife soon, and there are a few things we must discuss before I take my leave."

Disappointed, even sad, she nodded. "I understand."

He explained how she could invite him to her home. It was a surprisingly simple ritual. She needed only to draw a pentagram and place a ripe apple in the center.

"That's it? That's how you summon the King of Hell?"

"Hmmm, a summons is too strong a word," Lucifer explained. "A summons means I have no choice in the matter. This ritual is an invitation I can choose to ignore or answer. If I don't come, then it's because I have other matters to attend to, but I can promise you at least one night of the month."

"What if I need you?"

"If your need for me is great, then I will come."

She swallowed, too afraid to ask if he decided to never come to her.

As if reading her mind, he took her hand. "If I ever decide to end this affair, I will tell you myself. I will not leave you waiting with no answer."

And she promised the same for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Any Kudos or Comments is much appreciated and keeps me motivated to produce more content!


End file.
